


Shades of Grey

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Slytherin, The Quidditch Pitch: Slytherin Common Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: During the months preceding her 17th birthday, Roselyn Cartell must make a very important decision. But when she has to choose between life, love, freedom and morality, will her choice lead her to the darkness, the light or will she be stuck in the grey?





	1. 1: Worries

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

_"Life is not always black and white."_

_"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters."_

_"We are Grey. We stand between the darkness and the light."_

 

 

  

 The bell rang loudly in her ears for the twelfth time. Noon. With a deep breath, Roselyn Martell put on the best smile she could muster as the doors in front of her swung open. The people around her stood in respect, waiting for her to enter. She felt like she was going to be sick. Roselyn gathered whatever ounce of dignity she had left, and took her first few steps down the aisle.

 

**. . . . .**

 

 “Rosie! Rosie, for Merlin’s sake, wake up!”

 

 “Go away,” she groaned, flailing her arm behind her in an attempt to swat away her friend. “It’s Saturday morning.”

 

  A sigh. “No, it’s not. It’s Tuesday. Honestly, you think every morning is Saturday.”

 

 “It should be,” Rose whined, sitting up in bed. “Daph, you should really consider letting me sleep every now and again.”

 

 “Maybe if you weren’t always up half the night, you wouldn’t have this problem. Now get up. I want to get breakfast before class.”

 

 She didn’t need telling twice. Once breakfast had been mentioned, nothing could keep Rose in bed. She dressed quickly into her robes, grabbed her school bag and ran to meet Daphne Greengrass in the common room. She, as always, tripped on the single step up into the common room, and nearly fell until someone caught her.

 

 “Oh, good morning, Draco,” she chirped.

 

 “Pleasure as always, Roselyn,” he replied formally. She rolled her eyes and continued off to breakfast with Daphne. They took the first two empty seats that they could spot.

 

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Rose asked, stuffing a piece of toast into her mouth.

 

 “As always, we have Advanced Potions first. Did you do your essay?”

 

 “Not a chance.”

 

 “Of course not. Then, Double Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms,” she finished.

 

 “Did we have homework there?”

 

 “Not tonight, lucky for you,” she shook her head. “Would it kill you to do your homework?”

 

 “Actually, it would. I would literally burst into flames and die. Do you want that for me? No, I didn’t think so. Pass the eggs.”

 

  **. . .**

 

 “Essay, Miss Martell?”

 

 “Sorry, Professor, I left it in the Dormitory. Do you think I could get it to you by the end of the day?”

 

 “Again?” Professor Slughorn asked. Rose grinned sheepishly. “Before dinner.”

 

 “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!” she said excitedly.

 

 The moment he turned his back, Rose snatched the essay off the desk behind her, Confunding the Gryffindor boy that it belonged to. If she wasn’t stuck sitting in the front and having her essay always checked first, she wouldn’t have this problem.

 

  **. . .**

 

 Rose threw herself in front of Blaise Zabini, landing on the armchair before he could sit down. He stared down at her, forming a small ‘o’ with his lips.

 

 “I was here first,” she smiled. Blaise stood there a minute and then proceeded to sit down on top of her. 

 

“No! Get off!”

 

 “You cheated,” he replied. “This is my seat.”

 

 “Come on, Blaise, don’t be such a git,” Daphne sighed, taking a seat on the couch.

 

 He stood up. “This isn’t over, Martell,” he threatened playfully. Rose rolled her eyes.

 

 As the rain picked up on the lake above, everyone gathered in the common room, settling into their usual places on the couches and chairs. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson sauntered in, flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

 

 “Move, Martell, I want to sit there,” Pansy whined. Her voice sent a shrill of annoyance through Rose.

 

 “I’m sorry, you what? I couldn’t hear you over that high-pitched shrieking,” she replied, pretending to clean her ear out with her finger.

 

 “What shrieking?”

 

 “Oh! There it is again! Jesus, Parkinson, is that your voice that’s doing that?”

 

 Pansy huffed angrily and went to sit in the chair opposite the table in front of the fire. Draco shot Rose a scolding look to which she replied by sticking out her tongue.

 

 “One day, you’ll push her too far,” Daphne whispered.

 

 “Relax, I’m just messing around.”

 

 Once everyone had settled in and calmed down, the conversation flowed more freely. At first, everyone talked amongst themselves. Rose with Daphne, Blaise with Draco while Pansy drew circles on his leg, and even Vincent and Gregory discussed trivial facts amongst themselves. But, eventually, the conversations all blended into one. It was innocent enough at first, but quickly turned to a subject that Rose had no intention of touching upon.

 

 “So, Roselyn,” Pansy sneered from Draco’s lap, which she had so obnoxiously settled herself into. “Your seventeenth birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

 

 “Yes, in a few months. So?” Rose replied acidly.

 

 “Well, we all know what that means,” she continued condescendingly. “And you don’t seem to be making any effort to be ready for it.”

 

 “I don’t need to make an effort. Unlike you, guys don’t cringe away from me. It won’t be a problem.”

 

 Just as the words left her mouth she knew that, yes, it will indeed be a problem. When she was a little girl, she dreamed for her seventeenth birthday because she had this silly notion in her head that she would be in love, and everything would be perfect. Of course, now she knew that it was just a fairytale dream and the real truth of it is, there’s nothing perfect or romantic or ethical about any of it. Though she wouldn’t know for sure until Christmas holiday, she had a pretty good idea of who her choices were, and frankly, she wasn’t pleased about it.

 

 “Any of you going to Slughorn’s party on Friday?” Blaise chimed in, cutting the conversation short, much to Rose’s relief.

 

 “No, Blaise, no one is a suck-up enough to be in that ridiculous Slug Club,” Daphne snorted.

 

 “It’s okay to be jealous, Daphne. But since you’re being so rude about it, I’m not going to invite you to come with me.”

 

 “Right, as if I really would have said yes,” she scoffed. “You know me better than that.”

 

 “Sure, whatever you say,” he nodded, then turned to Rose. “Rose, you should come with me.”

 

 “No, thank you. It’s just going to be a party with a bunch of Gryffindors. The last thing I want to do is be around Potter and his gang a second more than is necessary,” she answered, distaste colouring her face.

 

 “But it’ll be fun. There’ll be music and food and me, of course. No one can resist that.”

 

 “Oh, look, I’m resisting it.”

 

 “Great! So I’ll meet you in the common room at eight, then?” he decided. Rose did a double take.

 

 “What? No! Didn’t you just hear me say no?”

 

 “No,” he replied and stood up. “I’m going to bed. Good night, mates.”

 

 With that, he left, winking at Rose as he passed. She gawked after him. Did he really think so highly of himself as to…ARGH.

 

 “Rosie, are you feeling okay?” Daphne asked, worried.

 

 “No. I’m going kill him. I swear it I will. He’s so annoying! I could just—” she cut off as she made a wringing gesture with her hands. Everyone laughed, and the mood immediately lightened. That is, until Pansy decided to ruin it, again.

 

 “Well, I’m not worried about my seventeenth birthday at all,” she announced, then nuzzled Draco’s neck. He sat still as a stone, dark purple shadows forming under his eyes.

 

 Rose pretended to be oblivious. “Why is that, Parkinson?”

 

 “Well, because I’ve got Draco, of course!” she squealed delightfully. “I mean, father says I can’t officially choose until four months before my birthday like everyone else, but we all know it’s going to be him.”

 

 Rose bit back a laugh. “Right, good luck with that.”

 

 Daphne wasn’t so kind. She doubled up in hysterics. “Oh, that is too good,” she gasped in short breaths.

 

 Pansy crossed her arms. “It’s not funny, Greengrass! I’m serious.”

 

 Daphne took deep, calming breaths. “Oh, I’m sure you are. I’m just saying, good luck with that. But, if I remember correctly, you’re the youngest of all the girls in our year,” she pointed out.

 

 “So?”

 

 “So, who’s to say someone won’t snatch Draco up before you?”

 

 “That will never happen,” she protested, but her face was panicked. This time, Rose had to cut in with a chuckle.

 

 “Yeah, Parkinson, I’m going first. And, well, frankly, I think Draco is just damn sexy,” she said, winking at him to show that she was just kidding.

 

 “Don’t you fucking dare!” she screamed, standing up in outrage. Rose reeled back, shock on her face.

 

 “Whoa, relax! I was joking!” she cried, putting her hands up in front of her face. Draco, who had been quiet throughout the entire exchange, finally stepped in.

 

 “Pansy, baby, relax. You know she just loves pissing you off. Don’t let her get to you,” he cooed, pulling her back onto his lap. “And, Roselyn, can you please stop being such a bitch?”

 

 Rose glared at him.

 

 “Okay! Well!” Daphne clapped her hands together. “This was fun. I’m going to bed. Coming, Rosie?”

 

 “No, you go ahead,” she said, still glaring at Draco. Daphne shook her head, and disappeared into the passageway leading to the Girls’ Dormitory.

 

 “It’s probably time for us to go, too, Draco,” Pansy whined, standing up to interrupt the eye-lock Rose and Draco had on each other.

 

 “Sure,” he nodded, standing to leave as well. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 “Goodnight,” Pansy piped sweetly.

 

 Rose wanted to gag. Draco kissed Pansy’s cheek, and she disappeared after Daphne. He motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to leave, then took his seat back on the chair he had previously occupied.

 

 “What the hell was that?” Rose asked, angry.

 

 “What was what?”

 

 “Don’t you even try that with me, Draco Malfoy! Who do you think you are, putting me down like that?”

 

 “Calm down, Martell,” he rolled his eyes. All pretenses of formal addressing were gone now that they were alone.

 

 “I’m so tired of this, Malfoy,” she sighed. “It’s every day with you.”

 

 “It’s not my fault you act a like bitch to her.”

 

 “She deserves it!” Rose defended.

 

 “No, she doesn’t. She’s a pain in the ass, yes, but you’re only provoking her further.”

 

 “Might as well have a little bit of fun with it,” she mumbled.

 

 He sighed impatiently, stood up and crossed the small area toward her. A few people walked past him, into the dormitories, and they paused to look at the exchange before Draco shot them all scathing looks. The common room was mostly empty now except for three 4th years sitting together in the upper part of the split-level room. Draco took a seat at the edge of the couch, leaning toward Rose.

 

 “Listen to me,” he whispered in a low voice. “I’m not going to ask you again. Leave Pansy alone. I’m sick and tired of having to hold her back from ripping off your face every time you provoke her. I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you’re both Slytherins, for crying out loud. If you haven’t noticed, not many people from the other Houses like us very much, so I suggest you take what you’ve got and appreciate it. If you pull something like this again, I won’t hold her back, understand?”

 

 “Go to hell, Malfoy,” she spat, and stood up, leaving him in the common room alone.


	2. 2: Not Caring

  
Author's notes: **Disclaimer:**  Everything from the line "'...cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled—'" to the line "'I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but—'" was directly taken from  _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ (Chapter 15, Pages 322-324), with a few obvious exceptions.  


* * *

**Shades of Grey  
** 2\. Not Caring

 

 

 

For as long as she can remember being at Hogwarts, Rose never recalled waking up on her own in time for class. The benefit of living in the dungeons is that the annoyance of sunlight streaming through the window in the early hours of the morning was never a problem. The dark is also advantageous in making her roommates too tired in the morning to be loud as they get ready, which decreased the chances of noise waking her up. The dungeons were the perfect place to sleep in late, and Rose made sure to take full advantage.

 

On their very first day of school six years ago, Daphne took it upon herself to wake Rose up for class every morning. She found this task to be increasingly more difficult as the years went on. As she got older, Rose began staying up later and becoming more stubborn. By this point, it took a good five minutes of convincing every morning to make any progress. The promise of food was the only thing that kept Rose from laying down and falling back to sleep once she had already woken.

 

So, why, after all these years, did Rose suddenly find herself wide awake at…HALF PAST FIVE?! She couldn’t possibly imagine what would make her wake up so early. She guessed it might have had something to do with the nightmare that left her pores sweating and her heart racing, but this was just a guess. She couldn’t even remember having a nightmare. There were no axe-wielding murderers or horrific creatures. She wasn’t being chased by Inferi, her soul wasn’t being sucked out by Dementors, there were no Grindylows dragging her down to the deepest parts of the ocean.

 

Yet, when she closed her eyes to go back to sleep, anxiety rose in her chest, causing her to sit up in bed once more. She tried to shake off the bad feeling, but when that didn’t work, she gave up. Rose got out of bed and walked out to the common room. She laid down on the sofa that her friends normally occupied and tried closing her eyes there. Panic shot up her spine.

 

“Please,” she pleaded out loud with herself. “It’s five-bloody-thirty in the morning. I swear; I won’t ask you for anything ever again, just please, for the love of Merlin, sleep.”

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

Rose sat up too fast, lost her balance and fell off the sofa. She lay on the ground, hoping that she had given herself a concussion, and would pass out. Yeah, she was that desperate for sleep. Unfortunately, she had no such luck. With a groan, she used the edge of the table to push herself up to her feet and face Draco Malfoy. 

 

It was almost hard to recognize him at first glance. His hair was messy, like he had run his hand through it at least a hundred times within the past hour alone. He had his robe slung over his arm, and his shirt was wrinkled as though he had thrown it in a pile of clothes somewhere and only put it on before coming into the common room. She could see where the shirt clung to his sweaty body. It would have been enough to shock Rose at just his appearance, for Draco had always carried himself well, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His face was the worst of it. Hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, something that looked like dust or dirt was smeared across his face, he had a cut on his cheek, and his eyes were haunting. The bags under them suggested that he hadn’t slept for days. The silver colour had distilled into nothing but a dull grey. It was horrific to see.

 

“Draco, what happened to you?” Rose asked in genuine concern.

 

“What? Oh, nothing. Who were you talking to?” he asked again.

 

“Oh, I was trying to convince myself to fall asleep,” she replied lamely. “Answer my question. What happened to you? You look an absolute mess! Have you been out all night?”

 

Draco shrugged and started walking toward the dormitory. Rose stood in his path. He tried to walk past her, but she stood her ground, not letting him through. She stared into his cold, grey eyes, searching for an unspoken answer to her question.

 

“Draco, what happened?”

 

“I already told you; nothing happened,” he insisted. “Now, can I please get to bed? I’m tired.”

 

“You’re bleeding,” Rose pointed out casually, stepping aside.

 

“Oh, bullocks, am I?” He wiped his hand across his cheek and examined the blood. “It better not leave a scar, or I swear I will…”

 

He continued to mutter to himself as he pushed past Rose and walked down the stone passageway to his dormitory. She stared after him, completely thunderstruck by what just occurred. The look that flitted across his face when she had asked what happened to him really worried her. She never before felt concern for anyone like Draco, but her gut went cold at seeing him tonight. She couldn’t place whether he was panicked, upset, worried, or scared. But something, whatever it was, made his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate when she pressed the issue. Some part of her wanted to find out what was going on, but another part wanted nothing to do with it.

 

She decided to go with her second option, and, instead, returned to her attempt at sleeping.

 

**. . .**

 

Draco wasn’t in class that morning. If it weren’t for the simple fact that his annoyingly-blond head always sat in front of her, Rose might not have noticed. Or so that’s what she told herself. She refused to believe that she had kept her eyes out for Draco all morning, very worried for his well-being. She really wasn’t close enough friends with him to care. Yet she couldn’t rid the vision of his empty eyes and ruined appearance from her mind.

 

When McGonagall asked her for the answer to a question she had not heard, Rose mumbled something about a headache, and requested permission to go to the Hospital Wing. McGonagall looked sceptical, but after seeing the look on Rose’s face, granted her permission, and turned to Daphne, seeking the answer Rose had failed to produce.

 

Rose strolled lazily through the halls, hoping to clear her head and calm down. After about ten minutes of aimless wandering, she decided to go to the common room, and prepare for her afternoon classes. On her way, she saw Draco sprinting out from the dungeons, heading toward the marble staircase.

 

“Draco!” she called after him.

 

He seemed to hesitate a moment, probably wondering whether to ignore her and keep going. Then, he slowed down and turned to look at her. He looked better now: showered, clean. The bags under his eyes weren’t any lighter, which meant he probably wasn’t very rested, but he at least appeared better.

 

“Yes, Roselyn?” he asked.

 

Rose looked around to see if they were alone, wondering why he was being so formal. “Can we talk?”

 

“No,” he said, “I have places to be.”

 

“Just for a minute,” she assured.

 

Draco cast a few looks over his shoulder, and then nodded. He continued up the staircase; Rose followed. When they had reached the next landing, he turned abruptly and led her into a remote corridor, away from anywhere they would be walked in on. Rose didn’t see the need for the secrecy; everyone was in class at the moment.

 

“Go on,” he whispered urgently. “Talk.”

 

“Well, uh, I want to know what happened to you last night. You were a wreck.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied stiffly.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know what I’m talking about? It was just a few hours ago. Draco, what’s going on?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Martell, but stop it. You don’t care. I know you better than that. Drop it, alright? I had a bit of a rough night. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get to class. Goodbye.”  
  


He walked away, leaving Rose to stand in the small, deserted corridor alone. She herself wasn’t quite sure what she was up to. He was right; she didn’t care. Or, well, every character trait she had would suggest that she couldn’t. A familiar anxiety rose in her chest, and she shook it off. Who cares, right? It was probably nothing.

 

**. . .**

 

For the next two days, she ignored Draco. Not once did she examine his eyes, which were now completely bruised from lack of sleep. She didn’t pay attention to the way he always seemed to be a mile away, thinking about something else and not hearing the conversation around him. The worry that constantly creased his eyebrow was never of concern to her. She failed to notice his sudden disappearances during lunch and dinner.  She never glanced at him during class, wondering why on Earth he was acting this way. Not a single thought about Draco Malfoy crossed her mind.

 

That is, not until Friday.

 

“Ready to go?” Blaise asked, standing over her.

 

“Go where?” Rose retorted, looking up from her game of Exploding Snaps.

 

“To Slughorn’s party,” he replied, as if it should have been obvious.

 

“I already told you I’m not going.”

 

“You should go,” Daphne muttered lazily. “Maybe it’ll be fun. And, in any case, you can always enjoy yourself by hexing a few of those Gryffindors. Much more fun than sitting around here, anyway.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, go ahead,” she nodded before the cards in front of her blew up.

 

“Give me five minutes,” Rose sighed.

 

Blaise’s smug look didn’t make the arrangement any more pleasant, but she ran into her dormitory to change. Without really deciding to put much effort into it, she threw on a pair of lavender dress robes, and ran her fingers through her loose curls. Not that it really mattered; she probably wouldn’t stay.

 

“Ready,” she announced as she entered the common room. Blaise’s smirk widened. She ignored him.

 

The party was nothing interesting to be held. The decorations were of the plainest variety. Emerald, crimson, and gold hangings adorned the ceiling and walls. Fairies fluttered in a lamp, producing a golden light over the large room. Everyone in there was, as Rose had guessed, a Gryffindor. Okay, well, not everyone, but she could barely tell the difference anymore.

 

“Butterbeer?” Blaise asked, handing her a bottle.

 

“Sure, thanks,” she replied absently. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Go right ahead,” he nodded.

 

She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “Nevermind.”

 

He raised his eyebrow, but clearly decided he didn’t care enough to ask. He took a chug of his butterbeer, and looked around the crowd. He was probably searching for someone he knew, but Rose had a funny feeling that he wasn’t friends with anyone here. She bit back a laugh. Apparently, he gave up, and turned back to Rose.

 

“So, you’re seventeen soon, eh?” he asked.

 

“Er, yeah, in April,” she replied.

 

“So, you and I, we’re going to be pretty nice together, don’t you think?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You are choosing me, aren’t you?” he asked. A split second of hesitation crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk. “Of course you are.”

 

She gave him a disbelieving look, then decided to ignore it and said, “This party is terrible.”

 

“Let’s leave, then,” he said.

 

This shocked her, but she nodded, seizing the opportunity. Blaise led her out of the room. They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps away from Slughorn’s office when Rose stopped.

 

“Can we go somewhere private? I need to talk to you,” she said.

 

For a second, the look on his face worried her. “Sure, thing,” he said, and started leading her down the hall. They passed several doors before Blaise pushed open a plain wooden one at the end of the corridor and led them into an empty classroom. He closed the door behind him and motioned for her to sit. She planted herself on top of one of the desks.

 

“What did you need?” he asked, stepping in front of her.

 

“I was wondering…” she began, then stopped.

 

Was it okay to bring this up with someone else? Draco didn’t seem keen on sharing his issues with her, so would he mind if she went blabbing it all to someone else? She hesitated for a moment longer, then decided that she didn’t care. When she opened her mouth to continue her question, Blaise’s face was suddenly right in front of her. Before she could move away, he crushed his lips to hers.  She tried to push him away, but he held the back of her head securely. She kissed him back instinctively, and he took that as an invitation to continue. Blaise suddenly pulled away.

 

“Do you hear that?” he whispered.

 

“Hear what?” she spat, wiping her mouth.

 

“I think someone’s coming.”

 

Sure enough, voices sounded outside of the door. Rose grabbed Blaise’s hand and pulled him into the broom cupboard to their right. She shut the door just before the classroom one opened.

 

“Get in,” hissed a familiar voice.

 

“Is that Professor Snape?” she mouthed. “Blaise, stop touching me.”

 

“What the hell were you thinking, Draco?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco replied crossly.

 

“You’re messing up Draco. These are juvenile slip-ups. First you curse Katie Bell, and now you’re caught wandering around by Filch! Have you no brain?”

 

“I didn’t curse her,” Draco cried out.

 

Snape seemed to ignore him as he continued. “We cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled—”

 

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, all right?”

 

“I hope you’re telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.”

 

“Who suspects me?” said Draco angrily. “For the last time, I didn’t do it, okay? That Bell girl must’ve had an enemy no one knows about—don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid, but it won’t work—I can stop you!”

 

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, “Ah…Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thought are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?”

 

“I’m not trying to conceal anything from _him_ , I just don’t want _you_ butting in!”

 

Rose shot a questioning look at Blaise, but he seemed just as shocked as she was to hear this.

 

“So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco—”

 

“So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!” jeered Draco.

 

There was another pause. Snape said, “You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things.”

 

“You’d better stop telling me to come to your office then!”

 

“Listen to me,” said Snape, his voice so low now that Rose and Blaise pressed their ears up against the door to hear. “I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco—”

 

“Looks like you’ll have to break it, then, because I don’t need your protection! It’s my job, he gave it to me and I’m doing it, I’ve got a plan and it’s going to work, it’s just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!”

 

“What is your plan?”

 

“It’s none of your business!”

 

“If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you—”

 

“I’ve got all the assistance I need, thanks, I’m not alone!”

 

“You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridor without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes—”

 

“I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!”

 

“Keep your voice down,” spat Snape, for Draco’s voice had risen excitedly. “If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts O. W. L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres—”

 

“What does it matter?” said Draco. “Defence Against the Dark Arts—it’s all just a joke, isn’t it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts—”

 

“It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!” said Snape. “Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle—”

 

“They’re not the only ones, I’ve got other people on my side, better people!”

 

“Then why not confide in me, and I can—”

 

“I know what you’re up to! You want to steal my glory!”

 

There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, “You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father’s capture and imprisonment has upset you, but—”

 

Rose wasn’t sure why Snape had stopped until, two seconds later, the door to the classroom opened. She heard Snape mutter something, but it was too low for her to understand. She and Blaise stayed in the broom closet for another five minutes, ears pressed against the door, listening for anyone still in the room. When they finally thought it was safe, they stepped out. The room was empty, the door left open.

 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Rose breathed.

 

 

**  
**


	3. 3: And So the Story Begins

She turned slowly on the spot to look at Blaise. He stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open slightly. After a few seconds, he sat on top of one of the desks. She stared at him for a moment and then said, “I’m guessing you didn’t know.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” he answered slowly. Then his confused expression turned to one of irritation. “You’d think I would know, right? I mean, I’m supposed to be the guy’s best friend. Leave it to Draco to pull something like this. He told Crabbe and Goyle for Merlin’s sake! _Crabbe and Goyle!_ He has better people? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I have half a mind to punch him in the face, or throw a few curses his way, at least. This is ridiculous. You know what I think it is? He’s jealous. Yeah, that’s it! It has to be! He’s jealous that if he told me what he was up to, I’d end up doing it better. Can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. He was always jealous of me, you know. I don’t exactly blame him. How could he not be? I’m smarter, richer, more handsome, have more friends—Wow! It’s so obvious now!”

 

He continued to rant to himself as Rose slipped out of the door inconspicuously. She could hear his nonsensical monologue all the way down the hall. As the sound of his voice grew dimmer, the stone wall of the Common Room became visible. Muttering the password, she stepped in to find the place nearly deserted. It must have been getting late. She headed toward the dormitories, but stopped when she saw a blond head out of the corner of her eye. She paused, thought about her options, and continued walking toward her room.

 

She could have confronted Draco now about what she heard, but there were several reasons that ran through her mind in those few seconds after seeing him on the sofa that convinced her not to.

 

One: she didn’t want to admit that she had been eavesdropping. On the one hand, she didn’t do it on purpose, but on the other hand, it was so below her to hide in a broom cupboard and listen in on other people’s conversations.

 

Two: previous encounters taught her that confronting Draco about his private matters usually ended with him telling her to piss off, maybe not in so many words, but the message, sometimes merely a hand gesture, was always clear. So, why would she waste her time and breath asking him questions to which she would get no real answers?

 

Three: it wasn’t her business. If he hadn’t bothered to tell his best mate, why would he tell her? They weren’t that close of friends. The two of them have been skating along the comfortable line of friends and acquaintances since their first day at school more than six years ago. She wasn’t about to cross that line into the “friends” territory over something that didn’t even concern her.

 

Three and a half: (after deliberation, she decided to make this three and a half because it was too closely related to point three to be point four, but not closely enough related to be in the same point) she didn’t even _want_ to be friends with him. He wasn’t exactly her type. She didn’t dislike him, of course not. Being close enough to be friends with him would definitely throw things off balance. It wasn’t even him that was the problem. It was the people he called his closest mates. Crabbe and Goyle, for one, were stupid as stupid can get, and Rose, while not the exactly the brightest witch of her year, didn’t enjoy the prospect of being in close ties with them. Then there was Pansy. It was wrong to say she hated anyone in her own house, let alone her year, but boy did she hate Pansy! She couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but something about her made Rose grind her teeth together. As for Blaise, he was just an annoying little twit. He tried much too hard to be just like—or even better than—Draco, and it was pathetic and a pain.

 

Three and three quarters, (last one in the three category, promise) being more than just barely-friends with Draco would be succumbing to her parents’ wishes, and that is a territory into which she would never venture. It’s been years, and she hoped they would have gotten over it by now, but of course they’re too stubborn for that. They just needed to find their daughter useful, she guessed. 

 

She shook her head, letting the thoughts fall out of her mind. Grinding her teeth together, she tried to get back on track. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah, the points.

 

Four: she didn’t care. Simple as that. Sure, it bothered her some that there was something happening  that she didn’t know about, but when it really came down to it, she didn’t care about what was going on with Draco so much as she cared about what was happening in the school. Whatever Draco was up to probably would never affect her or anyone else directly, so she just had to ignore it.

 

Nodding her head satisfactorily to herself, she climbed into bed and tried to sleep, with immediate success.

 

**. . .**

 

The next morning, the dormitories were in a frenzy. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the Christmas holiday. They made plans with each other, handed out invitations for parties, and promised to keep in touch. Rose rolled her eyes as she heard Pansy bragging about the custom-made dress robes that she planned to wear on Christmas Eve. Rose made to leave before the conversation turned to Christmas Eve festivities, but she wasn’t quite coordinated enough to make a stealthy escape. She knocked into the side of Daphne’s trunk—which sat at the foot of her bed like it did every day of the year—and yelped loudly. Pansy turned her ugly brown eyes on her.

 

“ _Roselyn_ ,” she drawled annoyingly. “I was just telling Millicent about the _gorgeous_ periwinkle dress robes I’m wearing for Christmas Eve. Draco is wearing his in navy, to match. Who are _you_ wearing to match with,?”

 

Her tone dripped with condescension. Pansy knew perfectly well that Rose never went with anyone to the Christmas Eve party, but she always found the need to point it out publicly, even if no one but the two of them were listening. 

 

“I’m not matching with anyone, Parkinson,” she replied. Pansy’s smirk widened. Rose finished, “Because that’s stupid, and I’m not eleven.”

 

“You say that now,” Pansy sneered, “But if you had an actual date, you might not be so pathogenic about it.”

 

“Pathogenic?” Rose repeated with raised eyebrows. “Parkinson, you really shouldn’t try to exert your brain with big words, because unless I’m contracting or creating some sort of disease by disliking matching dress robes, you’re misusing the word.”

 

“Whatever,” she spat dismissively and turned back to Millicent.

 

Rose rolled her eyes a second time and continued walking out of the dormitory. She walked—tripped—into the Common Room to see Daphne sitting on the sofa with her sister, Astoria. Daphne was clasping a necklace onto Astoria’s neck. Rose heard Daphne complain that Astoria was moving too much and Astoria complain in return that Daphne was taking too long.

 

“What are you doing?” Rose asked, stifling a giggle

 

“Trying to fasten this necklace, but Astoria is _moving too much_ ,” she scowled, wrestling with the clasp of a long chain.

 

“I wouldn’t be moving so much if you would _hurry up_ ,” he sister sniped back, turning her head and causing Daphne to drop the clasp she’d finally succeeded in opening

 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Daph, but you’re kind of a witch,” Rose interjected. Daphne looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Rose sighed, took her wand out of her pocket, and flicked it at Astoria whose necklace snapped itself shut.

 

“Oh, right,” Daphne said, blushing a little. “Did you finish packing, then?”

 

“Packi…” Rose trailed off, the realization hitting her. “Shit!”

 

She could hear Daphne laughing behind her as she sprinted to her dormitory. Throwing her trunk open, she threw everything in at once. Her alarm clock, clothes, school books, quills, cauldron, wand, parchment, shoes—she paused to fish her wand back out, muttering to herself. Everything was thrown in very hurriedly and it made shutting the trunk a more difficult feat than usual, but she eventually managed to lock it. This happened ever goddamned time.

 

**. . .**

 

She clambered off of the Hogwarts Express, walking to the stack of trunks in order to locate hers. Sighing because her wand was now officially useless to her, she heaved her trunk with more force than necessary, and fell backwards.

 

An envelope was thrust into her face. “Here, Martell, give this to your parents,” Draco said. Rose took the invitation and looked up.

 

“Do you want to help me up?” she snapped.

 

“No,” he said simply and strode off to join his parents. Rose stared after him. What-a-jerk.

 

She stood, grumbling, and wiped off the back of her robes. Unfortunately, she knew this was just the beginning of the holidays. It could only get worse from here. Nothing was good about coming home for Christmas. Nothing.

 

“ALEX!” she shouted and ran, full force, into the waiting arms of her older brother, Alexander Martell. Okay, well, maybe there was _something_ good about the holiday break.

 

Alex laughed, hugging her back. “Relax, Rosie, I’m not going to disappear.”

 

“You’re here early!” she accused, pulling away. She looked straight into his piercing blue eyes, searching for some hint of bad news, but all she found there was her deep buried jealousy. Piercing blue eyes. She hid a scowl.

 

“Yeah, well, Sora is spending the holiday with her mum,” he shrugged.

 

“She won’t be here?” frowned Rose.

 

“She’ll come for Easter,” he assured her, then looked over her shoulder. “Your trunk?”

 

“Oh!” she cried, and pointed toward it. Alex summoned it with his wand, and took her home.

 

**. . .**

 

As Rose unpacked her trunk, she immediately regretted leaving it to the last minute. Most of her quills lay broken, parchment ripped, clothes wrinkled. She grimaced at her broken quills, then frowned at her wand. If there was one thing she was looking forward to about being seventeen, it was being free to do magic outside of school. At this thought, an owl swooped in through her open window. She snatched the letter off of its leg immediately and read it.

 

_You need to have a date for Christmas…Just come over. – Daph._

Rose looked at the bit of parchment, and sighed. She grabbed the travelling cloak she had just recently draped over the door of her wardrobe and went downstairs. First she went to the broom cupboard by the front door and retrieved her Cleansweep Eleven, then she stuck her head into the kitchen.

 

“Alex, I’m going over to Daphne’s,” she announced.

 

“You’re flying?” he asked.

 

“It’s dark,” she dismissed, and he shrugged an agreement.

 

When Rose stepped outside, the air hit her like a bucket of ice. She hadn’t realized it was so cold, and thought about summoning a scarf and some gloves, but remembered that she couldn’t do magic. Muttering to herself, she pulled her hood securely over her ears, and gripped the broom tightly, rising into the freezing air.

 

She flew over the houses of Upper Flagley. The rooftops were all a nearly-identical shade of red-brown, the lawns all the same kind of green,—which admittedly looked almost black now due to the lack of light—and best of all, there wasn’t a Muggle house in sight. She smiled as she left the town and began flying over Gravel pond. She flew low, just barely a foot from the water. She could clearly see her reflection in the dark water and was almost startled by it. The shore came all too soon and she pulled the broom up, stopping just before she crashed into Daphne’s house. She flew the broom to Daphne’s bedroom window, upstairs on the left, and rapped on the glass. Daphne jumped, startled.

 

“Let me in; it’s cold!” Rose complained. It took Daphne a second to recognize her friend and throw open the window, through which she steered the broom agilely.

 

“You made it,” Daphne stated.

 

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. So, what am I here for?”

 

“You need to have a date for Christmas,” answered Daphne.

 

“Right, well, I’ve deduced that much from the owl. But _why_ do I need to have a date for Christmas?” 

 

Daphne mumbled something unintelligible. “Sorry, what?”

 

“I’ve already got one,” she said a bit louder.

 

“What?” cried Rose. “What do you mean you’ve got one? Who?”

 

“Theodore Nott,” she whispered, wincing.

 

“Okay, first: Ew. Second, we’ve gone stag to this thing since first year. Admittedly, we weren’t really looking for guys at the age of eleven, but when we were both thirteen, and we couldn’t round up decent dates, you promised me that we would go together every year. What gives?”

 

“Rosie, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just that my four-month mark is coming up soon, and I really need to get moving.”

 

Rose looked at the red-haired girl’s pleading expression and sighed. “Okay, fine, but _Theodore Nott_?”

 

“Well, it was either him or Crabbe! I was backed into a corner,” she defended.

 

Rose paused for a moment to consider Crabbe as the alternative, and nearly gagged. “Why not Blaise? At least he’s nice-looking.”

 

“I thought _you_ and Blaise were…” she trailed off, seeing Rose’s horrified expression. “Nevermind.”

 

Rose set her broom against the wall, and walked over to the dresser, looking at the pictures moving on the mirror. She grimaced as she saw a rather embarrassing one of herself from second year. She turned to see Daphne pulling out dress robes from her closet.

 

“Also,” Daphne said, “You’ll look really stupid showing up alone. I mean, even Millicent got a date. Look at these. Do you like these? I think I might wear them.”

 

“Millicent got a date?” Rose repeated.

 

“With Goyle,” shuddered Daphne, and Rose followed suit. “Just ask Blaise.”

 

“Number one, he can ask me himself. Number two, I don’t want to go with him! And besides, it’s not like I’m going to be conscious long enough to give a damn.”

 

“Oh, _please_ behave yourself this time.”

 

“I always behave myself,” Rose said.

 

“No, you don’t. You always get way too drunk, way too early, and then I’m the one that has to look after you.”

 

“That was, like, one time!”

 

“Four!” Daphne argued. “The Christmas party last year, Draco’s birthday, my birthday, _your father’s_ birthday, and—oh, five—Marcus and Evanna’s wedding!”

 

“My father had a birthday party?” Rose asked, incredulous.

 

Daphne smacked her palm to her face, shaking her head. “Just behave this time,” she begged. “Now, about these robes,” she continued.

 

“They’re nice enough,” Rose shrugged. “You should charm them. Remember that really lovely one your mum had cast on her own robes for Marcus’ wedding? Something like that.”

 

“It’s not even worth it,” Daphne groaned. “I need new ones.”

 

They continued deliberating about what Daphne should wear to the party for another half hour or so, until Rose finally decided it was time for her to get home.

 

When she got there, Alex was waiting for her.

 

“Mum and dad are pissed,” he said when she walked in through the front door.

 

“Shocker,” Rose mumbled under her breath.

 

“They’re pissed off you went out the night before, well, tomorrow, you know.”

 

“Alex, I was gone for 45 minutes, half a kilometre away at _Daphne’s_ , and it’s, like, nine o’clock. I don’t see a problem here!”

 

“Don’t shoot the messenger, sis,” he said, holding his hands up in a defensive position.

 

“Guess I’ll have their shit to deal with in morning,” she sighed, and trudged upstairs.

 

**. . .**

 

As predicted, she received a lengthy lecture from her parents the next morning. Much too early in the morning, she might add. Although, according to her parents, if she hadn’t been “out half the night doing God knows what” she wouldn’t have been so tired at eight o-bloody-clock. Yeah, right.

 

She pulled on the pair of lilac dress robes she had worn for the Yule Ball two years ago. They still fit well enough. She threw her hair up into one of those it-looks-like-I-spent-hours-on-my-hair-but-this-took-four-seconds kind of hairstyles, and walked downstairs. Her parents scowled. She grimaced. Alex smiled. She grinned back. They sat. They waited.

 

Rose fidgeted in her seat, impatient. In her opinion, the preliminaries were an unnecessary waste of time. She has known about this day since she was a little girl, and didn’t need to hear every detail in a long, boring speech. But, alas, there was nothing she could do about it. This was all just part of the process; she had no choice but to endure it.

 

There came a knock. Rose’s father, Christopher, went to open the front door behind which stood five familiar faces. Rose watched them file into the sitting room, all wearing dress robes of varying colours. Crabbe in burgundy and Goyle in rust-orange colour robes. Theodore sported very plain black robes, which stood in shocking comparison to Blaise’s blue ones beside him. Draco stood with an air of arrogance surrounding his usual, green, tailored attire.

 

Christopher cleared his throat. “Well, now that we’re all here. Let’s get started, shall we?”

 

Rose bit back a retort. Christopher motioned for Rose to stand up. Alex and his mother had discreetly moved to stand against the back wall. Rose’s father turned to look directly at her now.

 

“Roselyn Claire Martell,” he began, while reading from an old piece of parchment, “Birth date 26th of April 1980. As dictates ancient Wizarding tradition, though admittedly only kept now by the purest and truest of bloods,” he added snidely, “you have exactly four months before you come of age—that is, turn seventeen—” Rose resisted the urge to spew a rather colourful comment regarding her intelligence being mocked by her father’s comment. “—to choose a respectable suitor which you will then be married to before your 18th birthday. Do you understand and accept these terms?”

 

“I do,” she responded automatically. Christopher turned to the boys.

 

“Vincent Alan Crabbe, Gregory Raymond Goyle, Theodore Brian Nott, Blaise Darcio Zabini, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he continued, still reading the parchment, “Before the date of the 26th of April 1998 you will each be of the age of 17. Your status as wizards, and your family’s participation in this great and ancient tradition, makes each of you an eligible candidate as Roselyn Claire Martell’s fiancé. If chosen, you will be legally wed to Roselyn Claire Martell, unless otherwise agreed on by both parties. Do you understand and accept these terms?”

 

“I do,” muttered Crabbe.

 

“I do,” grunted Goyle.

 

“I do,” nodded Theodore, bored.

 

“I do,” agreed Blaise with an arrogant smirk.

 

“I do,” purred Draco, not taking his eyes off of Rose.

 

Rose looked away, suddenly understanding why he was watching her with such intensity. The moment eye contact was broken, she felt Draco’s gaze move away from her and, presumably, rest on her father. She settled for looking there, too.

 

“As the host family, we invite you for tea. If you would please follow my son Alexander into the dining room,” he finished, and motioned for Alex to lead the boys through a door to the adjoining room.

 

Her parents waited for the door to close behind the last in line before rounding on her.

 

“This is the last time we have a chance to tell you this, Roselyn,” her mother whispered hurriedly. “You’ve been a disappointment thus far; do not fail us here, too. Choose the Malfoy boy. He is our last hope of being what the Martells once were.”

 

“I can’t, _mum_ ,” she spat the word with malice. “Draco has already been claimed by Pansy Parkinson.”

 

“He cannot be claimed,” her father bit back. “Each one of those boys in there is eligible for _you,_ so choose wisely.”

 

“I believe we have a tea to attend,” she replied icily, and strode past her fuming parents into the dining room.


	4. 4: A Clich

With a surprising twist of fate, the evening continued without incident. Rose sat sandwiched between Draco and Blaise. Draco kept casting sidelong glances at her, which she promptly ignored, and Blaise’s hand just _happened_ to continually land on offensive places of her lap, which she didn’t ignore quite so easily. By the third or fourth time, when Rose tried to snap his wrist, Blaise gave up. 

  


When tea was over, she shook hands with each of her “suitors,” and showed them the door.

  


“I think that went well,” Christopher muttered to himself, walking upstairs to his bedroom. Rose’s mother, Claire, followed him.

  


“I don’t think that went well at all,” Rose grumbled, looking to Alex for support. He shrugged. “As my big brother, I would assume you’d have some sort of natural instinct to look out for me when a guy is—oh, what’s the phrase— _making a move_ on me.”

  


He looked at her for a few long seconds, and then began laughing. “Sure, _you_ need _my_ protection,” he snorted, and walked away, chuckling. She scowled at his back.

  


For the next couple of days, Rose managed to avoid talking to her parents. She spent most of her time with Daphne. After breakfast the following day, she took the fireplace to Daphne’s house where they spent a few hours of their time discussing marriage, playing Exploding Snaps, eating lunch, and discussing more marriage. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant topic, but Daphne seemed determined to do most of the talking, so Rose didn’t mind it that much. She was always content with letting Daphne talk, while she listened. Being the great friend that Daphne is, she always seemed to sense when something was troubling Rose, and took over the conversation completely, rambling about pointless topics.

  


“Rose?” she finally said when her best friend was taking a handful of floo powder, preparing to go home for dinner.

  


“Yeah?”

  


She seemed to change her mind. “Do you want to come to Diagon Alley with me tomorrow? I’ve decided I’m going to buy new dress robes for Christmas.”

  


“Sure.” Rose half-smiled, and threw the powder down, shouting, “Fourteen Flagley Court!”

  


The next day, Rose floo’d to Daphne’s just before lunch. They ate in her kitchen, and then took the fireplace to the Leaky Cauldron. Rose’s spirits didn’t seem much higher than they had the day before, but Daphne told her that this shopping trip was just what the Healer ordered. They walked straight to Madam Malkin’s, two girls on a mission. Of course, to their dismay, whom should they find there, but the one person neither of them wanted to see?

  


“Well, who do we have here?” came the drawl of the aforementioned pain-in-the-arse.

  


“’Ello,” Daphne muttered, looking through a clothing rack.

  


“What are _you_ doing here?” Rose sneered.

  


“Picking out dress robes, of course,” Pansy snorted, as if it should have been obvious.

  


“Why? Aren’t your dress robes for Christmas _custom made_?”

  


Pansy sniffed. “Obviously. These are for lesser occasions.”

  


Rose rolled her eyes, and turned her attention to the dress robes Daphne was examining. They walked around the store, looking at all of the different styles and colours the shop had to offer. Pansy’s eyes watched them curiously most of the time, and she kept annoyingly close by. Halfway through the clothing hunt, Daphne suggested that Rose buy new robes as well. Rose protested that she had enough dress robes at home, and would just wear something old. 

  


Daphne scoffed, looked meaningfully over at Pansy and whispered, 

  


“Don’t you want to show up in something better than _her_?”

  


Rose thought about it seriously, and a mischievous smirk crossed her face. She nodded, and the hunt continued. They spent a good half-hour browsing through the racks. It was your typical shopping trip with two friends, what more do you want? Simple, cliché shopping. Daphne found the perfect dress robes, of course, and set to work squealing over finding her friend something gorgeous to wear; which, naturally, she did.

  


As they were heading to the changing rooms to put on their new robes, Rose suddenly spun around to face a very flustered looking Pansy Parkinson, who’s cheeks flushed red at being caught eavesdropping.

  


“Look, I understand you’re probably male under all the make-up and skirts, but can you _kindly_ refrain fromfollowing us into the changing rooms? I’d rather not have nightmarish images of your pug face staring at me naked every time I close my eyes at night. _Thank you_.”

  


Pansy continued to blush, though her features rearranged themselves into a scowl as Rose walked into the changing room and pulled the curtain closed. Pansy walked away in a huff, peeved at being so insulted.

  


And that is how Rose Martell and Daphne Greengrass managed to blow off an entire day. Though Rose was thankful for this getaway, she now had to face the upcoming party, and her mood dropped again. All too soon, the night of the 24th arrived, and as Rose sat in the hot bubbles of her bath, she thought about how nice it would be to have a normal Christmas Eve at home. She grew so tired of these social gatherings that her parents always felt obligated to attend. _She_ didn’t feel obligated to attend. Why couldn’t _she_ stay home?

  


Rose sighed, drained the water, and stepped out. She ran the towel over her legs and arms, wrapped it tightly around her body, and headed out to her room.

  


Rose’s mom came out of the master bedroom then, stopping when she saw Rose. “You’re still not dressed?” she shrieked, fastening an earring to her right lobe.

  


“I’m going,” Rose grumbled.

  


“Hurry up! We’re leaving in 20 minutes, Roselyn. You do this every bloody time. I’m tired of this. Either you’re—Where are you going?! I’m talking to you!”

  


“I thought you wanted me to go get dressed, mother,” she replied through clenched teeth.

  


Claire gaped for a minute, then spluttered, “So, what are you doing standing around for, then?”

  


Rose stared, open-mouthed, after her. _What the fuck_?

  


Muttering silent profanities under her breath the entire time, Rose pulled on her dress robes: Long, flowing satin with emerald-green trimmings. Thanks to her lack of magic, she didn’t have time to dry her hair, so she pulled it up into a loose bun of wet curls, and hoped it would dry nicely. She doubted it.

  


The Malfoy Manor looked the same as it always did this time of year: decorated with exaggerated extravagance. She smirked at the silver tinsel and strings of glass bulbs filled with glowing fairies hanging from the ceiling, framing the windows and paintings. The oversized Christmas tree in the corner decorated lavishly in silver, green, and blue did not amuse her. Rose, having passed out drunk in Malfoy Manor last Christmas—and very rudely left behind by her parents—knew all too well what the place looked like after the evening festivities. She had awoken sometime in the middle of the day with a throbbing headache and the need to puke her intestines into a bucket, not to mention the weird case of hangover-amnesia. She looked around the house and nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were no decorations, no people, no sign of a party or a holiday at all. At the time, it had frightened her to the deepest pits of her gut, turning it cold. It was bad enough to wake up, half naked, in the Malfoy’s guest room, but it was another thing entirely not to remember how or why she was there.

  


Point is, Rose knew all too well that the decorations now set up around the main floor of the Manor were all for show and would be taken down first thing the following morning.

  


She remembered, quite vaguely, something about being told not to drink too much at this party as she made her way over to the bar. She scanned the bottles, trying to decide where to start. She was just reaching for a rather appealing bottle of rum to suggest to the bartender when a hand caught her wrist.

  


“Rosie, you promised,” Daphne whispered in her ear.

  


“I know,” she muttered, wrenching herself free of Daphne’s grip. She quickly changed course to the left and grabbed a bottle of butterbeer. “Happy?”

  


“Rosie,” Daphne growled.

  


“It’s butterbeer, Daph, I swear.”

  


“Good. Keep it that way,” she nodded, still watching her friend suspiciously. Rose saw Theodore Nott standing just behind Daphne, watching the exchange with curiosity. Daphne grabbed two butterbeers, handed one to Nott, and walked away with a quick, “See you later, Rosie.”

  


The second Daphne was out of sight, having pushed through a crowd of people to the opposite side of the room, Rose grabbed the rum bottle she had been eyeing, and ordered herself a _real_ drink. She took a small sip, and, realizing just how thirsty she really had been, downed the entire glass in one gulp. She let a small chuckle escape her lips before asking for another glass, and walking away from the table of alcohol.

  


“Hey, Rose!” called an all-too-familiar voice from somewhere she couldn’t see. She looked around to see Blaise Zabini coming toward her from behind a group of adults. She grimaced as he stood next to her.

  


“Hello,” she replied sourly, sipping her drink.

  


“What’ve you got there?” he asked conversationally, pointing at her glass.

  


She scowled. “What do you want, Zabini?”

  


“Whoa, easy on the hostility. What have _I_ done?” he said, throwing his hands up in a defensive position.

  


She took a deep breath. “Nothing. Sorry, Blaise, I’m just not in the mood to be here tonight.”

  


“I can see that,” he chuckled, nodding toward her drink. “If you want,” he muttered, suddenly putting his hands against the wall on either side of her, and leaning in next to her ear, “I can get you in the mood.”

  


She pushed him away, and he stepped back, a large grin spread wide on his face. He shrugged casually and leaned back against the wall beside her as though nothing happened. She rolled her eyes and sipped her drink some more. Rose watched the crowd of people in a neutrally observatory fashion. It wasn’t much fun. Everyone stood around talking and drinking, low music playing lightly in the background. She saw a group of Slytherins from school laughing boisterously in a big group. The adults regarded them with disdain. Daphne was sitting with Draco, Pansy, and Theodore a few feet away from the group. Daphne didn’t seem too comfortable, but Rose figured her friend could tough it out on her own until she finished her drink, because she didn’t plan to have it taken away from her. As she watched, Daphne’s eyes flickered upward, and Rose quickly hid her glass behind her back. Daphne seemed unaware, pointing her head discreetly toward Blaise and winking at her.

  


She turned away before Rose had a chance to protest. As she continued to watch her friends, Draco stood from his chair and announced, quite loudly, that he needed to pee. He then proceeded to walk from the room. Rose steeled herself, looked toward the group Draco had abandoned, and when no one was looking, she tore off after him.

  


Only one thought ran through her mind as she followed his disappearing figure up the stairs: _I have to know._

  


“Draco?” she called, opening every door as she went. “Are you up here?”

  


It didn’t occur to her that opening doors looking for him when he said he was going to pee probably wasn’t a wise idea until she found him. Luckily, he was still fully clothed. She hesitated for a few seconds, then decided she should let him piss _first_ , and left. She planned to wait outside the door for him, but didn’t have to wait longer than a couple of seconds before he came out.

  


“Rose?” he said awkwardly, raising an eyebrow.

  


“I need to talk to you,” she said hurriedly. “Are you going to pee?”

  


He looked over his shoulder, as though momentarily confused, then shook his head. Rose grabbed his hand and led him to the room next door. Draco tripped over the carpet as they entered. She waited for him to close the door behind her, and worked out how to best phrase her question.

  


Suddenly Draco’s head shot straight up, as though seeing Rose for the first time. “Got an idea!” he announced loudly.

  


“You do?”

  


“Yeah! It’s great! Listen here!” he shouted giddily.

  


“You don’t have to yell, I’m right here,” she said irritably.

  


He began nodded vigorously as he walked toward her. “You,” he said, stretching the word out awkwardly, “Should chose _me_ ,” he jabbed a finger at his chest, “to marry _you_ ,” he pointed at her in conclusion, stumbling slightly as he lost balance.

  


“Draco…are you drunk? Or am _I_ drunk?” She looked down at the nearly-full glass of rum in her hand, frowning slightly. “Ugh, no, you’re drunk.”

  


“Pfft, I had, like, _one_ drink,” he scoffed. “So, marry me?”

  


“Yeah, okay,” she said sarcastically. “If I ever have a death wish, sure.”

  


“Come on, baby,” he cooed in attempted seduction, failing spectacularly because he stumbled again.

  


He tried to throw his arms over Rose’s neck, but she sidestepped, and he fell onto the chair she had been leaning against. He stayed there. Rose turned around, looking at him with revulsion. She’d never seen Draco drunk before…or perhaps she had but didn’t notice because she was just as drunk herself. Either or. The sudden fall to the chair seemed to have sobered Draco a little, or at least calmed him down enough to get control over himself, because his face suddenly became serious.

  


“Funny, this, innit?” His voice had a mocking edge to it.

  


Rose knew precisely what he was talking about, but still said, “Why is that?”

  


“The tables just seem a little turned, don’t they? What with me being the—” He hiccupped. “—drunk one, and you not, and again, here we are in this here bedroom.” He flailed his arm around in a circular movement to motion to the rest of the room.

  


“You’ve got one fucked up sense of humour,” she spat. He began laughing, loud and cruel.

  


“Don’t kid yourself, Rose,” he answered, his words slurring. “It was the best night of your life.”

  


“You took advantage of me, you sick son of a bitch!” she yelled. He laughed again.

  


“You didn’t say no,” he reminded her.

  


“Just because it wasn’t rape, doesn’t mean it wasn’t wrong,” she hissed.

  


“You loved it,” he teased in a gruff sing-song voice.

  


Rose was going to retaliate, but she couldn’t think of one clever thing to say, so she settled for grinding her teeth. “I can’t talk to you like this. I’ll see you when you’re sober. Go to bed, Draco.”

  


“Only if you come with me,” he replied. She turned away in disgust, and walked from the room. “So, does that mean you’re going to marry me?” he called after her. She left without a reply.

  


Back downstairs, she located Pansy still sitting with Daphne and Theodore, Blaise having joined them. She walked straight up to her, not looking at either of her other friends.

  


“If I were you,” she said, and Pansy looked up in surprise, “I’d keep your boyfriend on a tighter leash.”

  


Without waiting for a reply, she walked away, draining her drink in one large gulp. She poured herself another, and drank it just as quickly, finishing off with several milligrams of Firewhisky.

  


**. . .**

  


Everything looked normal enough, though she couldn’t help but feel like something was very wrong. She turned in circles, trying to pinpoint exactly what was amiss. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just simply her garden. She stood in the middle of the grass, her back to the house, staring at the white wooden fence that encased the perimeter of her property. She turned in a full circle once more, and when she faced the fence again, her parents were standing in front of her, their arms linked.

  


“Mum? Dad?” she called to them, worried. What was going on? She couldn’t tell what they were thinking from their expressions. There was something on their faces she wasn’t sure she’d seen before.

  


“Come here to us, baby,” her mother cooed. Rose’s eyebrow shot up. ‘ _Baby_?’ she thought. _What is she trying to pull, talking to me like that?_

  


Rose walked toward her parents cautiously, casting nervous glances over her shoulder. As she got closer, she realized it wasn’t her parents at all. She had mistaken Draco Malfoy’s blond hair for her father’s. What was Draco doing with his mother? As she wondered this, she looked over to find that her mother wasn’t with Draco, it was her. Her eyes bulged. The smile on her face—or whoever this person that looked like her was—became a grimace, while Draco’s smirk turned into a sneer. There suddenly were flashes of light that blinded her, and she fell to the ground. The grass was hot beneath her fingers, though it seemed to be night time. She heard a high voice speak to her, but it sounded distant. It was then followed by more flashes of light. She felt her lips forming the word ‘no,’ but she couldn’t manage to scream it.

  


“No!” she wanted to say. “No! I don’t want this! NO!”

  


Her throat refused to make sound. Her entire body tensed, preparing for pain, but it never came.

  


Rose woke up with a cold sweat running down her forehead, anxiety rising in her chest, and her lips still formed in a circular ‘o’ from the words she couldn’t make herself produce in the dream. She tried to take deep breaths to calm the raging panic that made her want to scream and run away and never come back.


End file.
